


The Miraculous Bride

by shelbyecanwrite



Category: Miraculous Ladybug, The Princess Bride - Simon Morgenstern
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-08 22:32:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelbyecanwrite/pseuds/shelbyecanwrite
Summary: It is said that nothing is stronger than true love when experienced between two who are connected by forces beyond our control. But can it withstand falsified death claims, a kidnapping and a wedding to a prince with murderous intent? Marinette sees how far true love is willing to go when her beloved Adrien is taken away from her not once, but twice, and experiences the truth that even 'death cannot stop true love, it can merely delay it for a while.'A series of one shots based on the classic film 'The Princes Bride'Updates on Saturdays





	1. Chapter 1

Marinette loved her daily ride through the country side. The wind whipping through her hair, how her horse’s mane tickled her nose, and the thrilling feeling of unadulterated freedom like she could spread her arms and fly. It was exhilarating, and there was one other thing that always made her day more worth while in every way. 

Making fun of her father’s farm hand.

Adrien was a hard worker, and by far her father’s favorite employee. He did whatever was asked of him, no matter how ridiculous, and was always polite and cheerful about it.

It frustrated Marinette to no end.

How could someone be so loyal? So complacent all the time without any hesitation? She asked him once to fetch her a golden eagle feather so she could have a unique quill made for herself, despite already owning three. He was gone for three days, but still returned without fail, feather in hand and covered in scratches. It was infuriating.

She returned from her ride like always to find Adrien already in the stables with a pitchfork, changing out the hay. She dismounted easily, taking her horse’s reins in hand as she led the mare into her stable box. She looked at Adrien with a bored expression, the same one she always gave him, hoping to get a rise of some kind from him.

“Farm boy,” she said flatly. Marinette refused to call him by his real name. “Polish my horse’s saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.”

Adrien paused in his work, leaning up against the pitchfork with a soft smile, like she had hung the moon. He always looked at her like that for some crazy reason. He bowed his head respectfully. “As you wish, m’lady.”

Marinette hesitated under the weight of his gaze for a moment before walking back towards the farmhouse, still feeling the way he was watching her like a physical touch as she walked away.

‘As you wish, m’lady’ was all he ever said to her. It was the only response he’d give to her absurd requests, like it was an honor to bend to her every whim. His docile behavior only made her more determined though. She’d get a reaction, a real reaction, out of him if it was the last thing she would ever do.

It would be months before something changed, just not in the way that Marinette was expecting.

###

It was one of Marinette’s few chores to fetch water from the well, a simple enough job that didn’t take much time or effort. She liked doing it actually, always marveling at the little patches of wild flowers that sprung up every so often on the trail. Still, she couldn’t resist giving the job to Adrien when she saw him outside the farmhouse.

“Farm boy,” she said evenly, dropping the two buckets near the young man’s feet with a heavy thud, “fill these with water.”

The way he looked at her at that moment made her hesitate in her command for once. She balled up her skirt tightly in her fists before adding, in a quieter tone, “Please.”

Adrien blinked, as if mildly surprised by her sudden politeness, but quickly turned it back into a gentle smile with his standard bow, “As you wish, m’lady.”

He set the axe up against the chopping block, picked up the buckets and walked towards the well with a slight bounce in his step. Marinette waited until he had vanished into the thickets surrounding their house before turning to walk back inside. She pressed one hand against her heart, wondering why it had started to flutter so nervously when Adrien smiled at her. She tried in vain to shake the feeling as she went back to work. Later that day, she was amazed to discover that when he said ‘As you wish, m’lady,’ what he meant was, ‘I love you.’

###

It was later that same afternoon when Adrien came back inside, done with his day's work. He off-loaded the large chunks of firewood he was carrying at the door with careful placement. He must not have noticed Marinette when he came in, because when he finally did turn towards the kitchen, Adrien’s smile seemed to light up his entire being. Marinette gulped, feigning disinterest as she continued shucking the beans like her mother had asked her to.

When she didn’t acknowledge his presence, he seemed to wilt some, making the young woman’s heart squeeze painfully in her chest. She had started to hate disappointing him for some reason, even though she thought that was what she wanted all along. She turned, pressing her back against the basin as he turned to leave. “Farm boy.”

He turned back to look at her, his smile borderline contagious as she struggled to string together some coherent thought. She hesitantly raised her hand to point at a vase on a kitchen shelf that was almost embarrassingly within her reach. “Fetch me that pitcher?”

Marinette’s breath hitched in her throat as he drew closer to her, inches away when he finally reached up and grabbed the pitcher for her, placing it on the counter and refusing to back away from her. Had his eyes always been so green, so bright? Marinette wondered as her throat went dry, eyes dropping to his lips involuntarily. He was still smiling in that bewitching way he had.

“As you wish, m’lady,” He said in a low tone that made Marinette’s heart climb into her throat, threatening to stay there permanently if he kept looking at her like that.

Instead of finding out how nice his lips would be pressed against hers, she felt a sharp tap on the end of her nose. She blinked and pulled away out of reflex, her face screwing up in a grimace when she heard Adrien let out a breathy laugh at her expense, his finger still hovering above her face.

She watched him smile for a moment more, committing it to memory as he turned to walk back outside. That day was even more exhilarating than any daily ride she took, because that was the day she finally understood that she truly loved him back.

She found herself carried out the door and down the foot path to the farmhand housing. She caught sight of Adrien just outside of his tenement, sitting in a worn chair reading a book that he had probably borrowed from her father. He had a bewildered look on his face when he saw her trotting down the path, but the smile that bloomed across his features was enough to leave her breathless. He sat aside the book and rose to his feet, patiently waiting for her to address him, always patient.

Marinette stopped dead in her tracks, hands clenched at her sides as she drank in what she was about to do. It felt like she was flying and being pulled apart at the same time, but couldn’t find a reason to care though as she took in how his hair turned to fine gold in the glow of the setting sun and how he still looked at her like she was the one more precious than a king’s ransom. Had he always been so handsome? Had he always been content to wait for her, without any sign that she might return his affection?

She took a shaky breath, feeling like her knees might give out. She couldn’t think of what to say, mentally kicking herself for not thinking of what she was going to say to him. Still, she managed to find her voice enough to say one thing.

“Adrien,” She said softly, her voice hesitant like she was afraid it might shatter whatever she was feeling inside if she spoke too loud.

Saying his name seemed to work perfectly however, prompting him to move from where he had been frozen in his doorway. Marinette melted into his touch easily as his calloused hands held her face with a slight tremor, almost like he was afraid she’d break under his care and find out that it was all just a dream. She pulled him closer, hoping to convince him that it wasn’t all an act and he smiled that sugar sweet smile of his before leaning his forehead against her own, his touch sending a shiver through her.

“Kiss me?” She asked hesitantly, not knowing if she was overstepping her bounds or not.

His smile turned to a Cheshire grin, coy and full of mischief as he replied, “As you wish, m’lady.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck before brazenly crashing her lips into his, reveling in how he easily pulled her against him, nearly sweeping her off her feet. He smelled like wood dust and the heather from the fields, a combination that seemed to overwhelm her as he picked her up in a kind of whimsical spin. She played with the soft blonde hair at the nape of his neck, not knowing how long she had wanted this, only that she wasn’t going to let him go any time soon.

Until fate decided that she had to.


	2. Chapter 2

Nino was really starting to question his life choices. He could have been a blacksmith like his father, or joined the army and died in a crusade by now, but no, he had chosen to be a hired swordsman to pursue his father’s killer. He peered over the edge of the Cliffs of Insanity at the figure clad in all black that slowly ascended the rope that Ivan had pulled he and his two other companions up moments before.

“He’s still coming, Damocles,” the dark-skinned swordsman called, his eyes never leaving the figure below. “He’ll be on us soon if we don’t do something.”

“What do you think I’m doing? Twiddling my thumbs?” The older Sicilian man grumbled as he hurriedly tried to cut through the rope with a shoddy dagger he kept on him. With every moment spent whittling away at the tether, the closer their pursuer got to the top. Nino couldn’t fathom why he would chase them so outright, especially when no one in Florin or Guilder was supposed to know what they had done. Still, the mysterious man had appeared on a boat close behind on the sea, following in their tailwind up until they reached the cliffs. How he had found somewhere to moor his boat, Nino didn’t know. Damocles had said it would take him hours, but apparently he was on a hot streak for being wrong today.

There was a sudden snap from behind as Damocles finally cut through the rope that held the man-in-black. It slithered past Nino and over the edge fo the cliff, leaving only a faint drag mark in the dirt as a reminder of what had transpired. When they didn’t here the great thump of a falling body hitting the rocks below, or the signature splash of someone falling into the sea, Damocles waved at his hired help to check what had happened.

Nino, along with Ivan and the captured Princess Marinette, slowly inched towards the cliff edge, wary of the drop, and peered down to see what remained of the man-in-black. They were surprised to find that there wasn’t a black devil surrounded in blood at the cliff face, or a wet spot where the splash from his plummet into the water had come upon the shore. Instead, the man-in-black clung for dear life onto the cliff face like some feral thing, his face tilted down as Nino watched his body heave with the jolt of almost dying. Suddenly, the man’s face tilted upward and Nino caught a glimpse of bright green eyes that burned with a tenacity that Nino had long since forgotten could exist in any mortal man’s gaze. Maybe they were dealing with a devil after all, sent to claim their souls for all of their horrible deeds.

“He has very good arms,” Ivan murmured at Nino’s right hand, his giant friend’s voice grumbling somewhere above his head from the height at which he stood. He could feel the princess shake in his grasp at being held so close to the drop off, and she didn’t dare to peer down at the scene transpiring below.

Damocles scuffled up to the edge on Nino’s left, his face going almost purple with shock and rage at how his plan hadn’t worked. “He didn’t fall? Inconceivable!”

Nino let out an exasperated sigh before turning on the gray-haired man. “You keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

Damocles puffed up like a bird who had gotten its feather ruffled by a brisk gust of wind as Nino turned to watch the man-in-black once more. Much to his surprise, the crazed man had actually started to pull himself up using the small hand holes in the cliff face. “My god, the mad man is actually climbing.”

They watched, enthralled, as the man slowly started to gain ground. A hand shakily grasping at a rock, a foot scraping at the rock face until it found a suitable place to perch on. It wasn’t as fast as climbing up the rope like he had been before, but the man-in-black was surely making progress towards the top of the cliff where they watched.

They stayed like that for a moment more, watching the man’s ascension, before Damocles let out a gruff hiss of disapproval. “Whoever he is, he’s obviously seen us with the princess and must therefore die.”

He pointed a sausage-like finger at Ivan, who eyed him with a half-lidded stare before the older man gestured to the shivering princess still situated in his firm grip. “You, carry her.”

He turned on Nino, who still watched as the man gained another foot up the cliff. “We’ll head straight for the Guilder frontier. Catch up when he’s dead. If he falls, fine. If not, the sword.”

That was why Nino had joined up with Damocles in the first place. Not only to escape his own drunken stupor at having lost the trail of his father’s killer, but to test the skills he had gained through years of swordsmanship against real opponents in a life or death battle. Still, he wasn’t without his vices, and as he rested one hand on his expertly made sword he made an unusual declaration. “I want to duel him left-handed.”

Damocles let out another unenthused groan, staring daggers into the young swordsman. “You know what a hurry we’re in.” 

:Nino shrugged, turning away from the cliff face to cross his arms across his chest and stare down his employer. “Well, it’s the only way I can be satisfied. If I use my right - “ he shook his head at the thought, letting out a disapproving whistle through his teeth “ - over too quickly.”

Damocles waved his hands in exasperation at the request, but clearly saw no point in arguing any more about it. They had to move fast. “Oh, have it your way.”

Ivan the Giant peered one more time over the cliff to watch the man gain purchase on a handhold higher up on the cliff, before stepping closer to his friend and muttering gravely, “You be careful. People in masks cannot be trusted.”

Nino chuckled at Ivan’s worries. He would think the man-fighter would have more faith in him by now. He patted him on the back, his hand dwarfed by the size of him, “Don’t worry, my friend, I’ll catch up with you soon enough.”

“I’m waiting!” Damocles called impatiently. He had walked all the way to the crumbling entrance of the castle where they had entered before realizing he was walking alone.

Ivan nodded, pushing the fair-skinned princess ahead of him as they scurried after the impatient Sicilian and left the crumbling ruins. Nino paused only to watch them go before returning to his watch of the man-in-black. After a few minutes he became impatient at the man’s slow progress towards his death and backed away, buzzing with untapped energy that made him wish they had never cut the rope in the first place. The faster the man got to the top, the faster Nino could finally, hopefully, get a good fight. He shook his hands loose, not used to waiting for anything. His father always attributed it to Nino’s natural inclinations towards being a swordsman, always itching for the next match, the next time he could meet an opponent on the field. The longer that time between bouts was drawn out, the more fidgety Nino became. He drew his sword from its scabbard, a perfectly balanced and expertly made rapier that was far more precious than anything Nino would ever own in the course of his life. He practiced his parry, balestra, coulé and riposte before he grew tired of that again. When he could see no other way to occupy his time, Nino returned to the cliff.

The man had made decent progress, coming three feet closer to the top of the cliff in the time that he had been forced to start free climbing. Still, his progress was too slow for Nino who let out a sharp huff before hollering down at his opponent. “Hey there.”

The man-in-black flinched for a moment at the sudden sound but managed a gruff grunt in response, his head tilted down to stare at the rock face as he paused in his climbing. Nino took his pause as a gesture that he could continue speaking to him. “Slow going?”

“Look,” the man finally called back, his accent crisp and clean like a well educated nobleman. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks. So I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t distract me.”

Nino held his hands up in surrender, knowing when to back down, and judging by the strained sound of his voice, the man-in-black was struggling as it is without keeping up a conversation. “Sorry.”

“Thank you,” the man called back before continuing his perilous climb.

Nino backed away, unsheathing his sword for a few well placed lunges and thrusts of the blade before he grew wary of that as well. He groaned before resheathing his sword and turning towards the cliff again to call down. “I don’t suppose you could speed things up?”

“If you’re in such a hurry,” the man growled impatiently, “you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or find something useful to do.”

Unscathed by his venomous tone, Nino suddenly lit up with an solution to both of their problems. “I could do that. In fact, I’ve got some rope up here. But I don’t think you’ll want to accept my help, since I’m only waiting around to kill you.”

The man-in-black paused, craning his head to look at Nino with those same penetrating green eyes. He could have sworn he saw the start of a coy smile tug at the corners of the man’s lips as he replied. “That does put a damper on our relationship.”

Nino pondered another way around his tireless waiting as the man-in-black climbed slowly up the rock face once more. “What if I promise not to kill you until you reach the top.”

“That’s very comforting. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait,” the man replied in a strained voice before continuing to climb.

“I hate waiting,” Nino grumbled, turning to pace once more in the dirt of the ruins before another idea came to mind. He rushed to the edge and called out over, “Could I give you my word as a Moroccan?”

“No good,” The man strained to say as he lost one hand hold before finding another. “I’ve known too many Moroccans.”

“So you don’t know of any way that you’ll trust me?”

“Nothing comes to mind,” The man-in-black called back. Nino pondered this for a moment before letting out a deep breath. He crouched low on the cliff, his hands resting on his knees as he made eye contact with this perfect stranger. He forced every ounce of truth he had left into his words as he vowed, “I swear on the soul of my father, Diwan Lahiffe, you will reach the top.”

The man-in-black seemed to consider this for a moment, never breaking eye contact with Nino as he measured the truth of his words carefully. Deeming that Nino seemed to be genuine, he let out a clipped reply. “Throw me the rope.”

Nino grinned with delight as he scurried back to the rock where the rest of the rope remained fastened. He undid the loop around the rock and slowly lowered down one end to where the man-in-black clung for dear life. There was a distinct tug at the end, meaning the man-in-black had finally grabbed hold. Nino grunted, sliding forward some at the sudden increase in weight before slowly aiding him in his ascent towards the top of the cliff. Nino could feel his limbs burning and the distinct grunts of the man-in-black as he too strained to gain purchase on the rock face. They kept a steady pace, Nino pulling while the man-in-black also climbed, and eventually Nino could make out the black scarfed head of his future opponent. There was a heavy grunt as the man finally pulled the upper half of his battered body onto the cliff’s surface before they both collapsed to catch their breath.

Nino sucked down air greedily, his muscles aching in a different way than what usually came from his daily routine, as the man-in-black slowly crawled away from the edge of the cliff to catch his breath. They were all but silent, their labored breathing nearly drowned out by the howling winds that raced across the hillside and echoed in the ruins around them.

“Thank you for that, by the way,” The man-in-black eventually said, having pulled himself into a sitting position against a crumbling wall. He was tired, that much Nino could guess, but from the way he studied the young swordsman, the man-in-black was no pushover and was already on guard. Nino watched him reach for the sword he had sheathed at his side, the gesture reminding him of what he was there to do in the first place. He waved his hand away from the sword sheath. “Stop that right now. We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

Exhaustion filled his pale green eyes as the man-in-black’s head leaned back to rest against the crumbling wall. “Again, thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Nino replied, taking the chance to examine the man he would have to eventually fight to the death.

He was clad in, well, all black. From his black leathered boots and tunic shirt, to the head scarf he wore to cover not only the top of his head, but the top of his face as well. All that was exposed was the lower half of his face, making him not only a hard read, but someone who wasn’t to be trusted just like Ivan had suggested. Anyone with that much to hide had to have more skeletons in the closet than Nino could care to take a guess at. However, he had two features that gave Nino a fairly good guess at whom he was dealing with.

The man’s head scarf had peculiar pointed triangles on the top, almost like cat ears that twitched here and there in the wind as if he were vying to hear what it was whispering. Then, at his waist wrapped around his belt was a pair of golden bells, the signature for any man who sailed on the Dread Pirate Chat Noir’s ship. He could only hope that he wasn’t dealing with the man himself. Still, his curiosity got the best of him and he had to ask a question that had been weighing on his conscious since he was eleven years old.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Nino started, his sudden chattiness catching the man off guard some, his eyes suddenly flicking back to watch the swordsman cautiously, “but you don’t happen to have six fingers on your right hand, do you?”

The man-in-black considered this for a moment, clearly perplexed by such an odd question, before a Cheshire grin cut into his features, reminding Nino more of a sly cat with every passing moment. “Do you always begin conversations this way?”

His tone was coy, but also curious and Nino for some reason didn’t have the heart to just play it off as he might have with any other stranger. This man was intriguing and easy to talk to despite their current predicament, and somehow Nino found himself explaining his motives.

“My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man,” Nino responded, trying to suppress the way his throat always seemed to start to close up whenever he mentioned his departed parent. “He was a great swordsmaker, my father. And when the six-fingered man appeared and requested a special sword, my father took the job. He slaved a year long before he was done with it. It was his crowning achievement, his pièce de résistance.”

He unsheathed the sword that hung heavily at his hip, heavier still with the memories that it held for the young man. He watched the weak sun shimmer and bounce off of the blade and the intricate hilt design his father had so delicately crafted during that year of tiring work. He saw the man-in-black lean forward, enamored by the weapon as much as Nino had been when he first saw it all those years ago. “It’s magnificent.”

Nino’s gentle features contorted into a painful smile, the memory coming back like bile in the back of his throat as he remembered his father’s last day on the planet. “The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but at one-tenth the price they agreed upon. My father, of course, refused. That’s when the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart.”

The man-in-black seemed to flinch at this, his eyes widening as Nino slid the sword back into its sheath, resting his hands on the pommel as he got more lost in the swirling sands of the past. “I loved my father, more so than I got to express to him. I challenged his murderer and I… I failed.”

“However, the six-fingered man did leave me alive with the six-fingered sword, but he gave me these.” The young man ran a calloused finger down the raised scars that carved into his cheek bone on either side of his face, resisting the urge to pull away from his own touch as if they were still fresh.

The man-in-black’s eyes were soft, almost pitying despite having only known Nino for about half an hour. He rested his hands on his knees, leaning forward off of the crumbling wall to give him his full attention. “How old were you?” His voice was quiet, as if he were afraid that Nino could break if he spoke any louder.

Nino sighed, closing his eyes, the memory flashing across his mind as if it happened yesterday instead of years previous. “I was eleven years old,” he admitted. “When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing and swordsmanship. So the next time that I meet the sorry lout, I won’t fail.”

Nino’s eyes snapped open, staring up at the clouds that raced across the sky with fevered pacing, and declared his mission to both it and the man-in-black like he had so many times before. “I’ll walk straight up to that spineless coward and say, ‘Hello, my name is Nino Lahiffe. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’”

The man-in-black seemed to consider this, his head tipping to the side like a cat might consider a mouse before snapping at it. “So you’ve done nothing but study swordsmanship since you were eleven years old?”

Nino was pulled from his reverie by the sheer absurdity of it when he said it. He rubbed his neck sheepishly, dropping his gaze to where the toe of his boot scraped nonsensical lines in the dirt. “Well it’s… It’s more of a pursuit than study, lately. I can’t find him, you see? It’s been 13 years and I think I’m starting to lose confidence. I just work for Damocles to pay the bills while I search.”

The man-in-black chuckled, a low sound that seemed to echo against the rocks around them. “Well, I guess there’s always a market for revenge and petty rivalries.” The man-in-black rose to his feet, shaking out his shoulders as if he were shaking off the cobwebs he hadn’t even collected while sitting there. “I certainly hope you find him someday, Nino Lahiffe.”

Nino could feel the itch for combat start to settle into his bones as the man-in-black started to circle him. “You ready then?”

The man chuckled again, as if a duel to the death were a normal occurrence for him. “Whether I am or not, you’ve been more than fair in the amount of time you’ve given me to recover.”

Nino nodded, unsheathing his sword as they squared off against one another. “You seem a decent man, my friend. I almost hate to kill you.”

The man-in-black bowed, an overly flourished gesture that almost made Nino want to laugh, before he drew his sword, a well-crafted blade that was only a rung below the caliber of his own. “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.”

They stood a good twenty feet away from each other, blades drawn, and the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting in heavy anticipation for the outcome of what was to happen between the two warriors atop the cliff.

“Begin!” Nino barked before they started their game of cat and mouse.

The man’s wrist twitched, a small gesture that managed to send his sword in a wide arc, a well-placed blow had it not been for Nino’s block. Their teasing continued like that, either one of them testing the other with small feints and parries, acting as if they were two young apprentices who happened upon their masters blades rather than well-trained masters in their own accord. The man-in-black smiled coyly, clearly enjoying himself, and against his will, Nino couldn’t help but find himself doing the same.

Their boots left slides in the dirt, like twin snakes dancing in a well-rehearsed routine, their blows becoming more and more heated as the distance closed between them. The echoes of their blades crossing one another ricocheted off the ruin walls like cannon fire. Nino grinned, the muscles in his left arm tensing at strained use, but he was having the time of his life for the first time in a while. He pressed the young man up an incline, sending him into retreat as Nino advanced.

“You’re using Bonetti’s defense against me, eh?” Nino huffed, unable to keep how thrilled he was from his tone despite the hazardous situation.

“I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain,” the man-in-black replied, the bells on his waist ringing in distress as he parried another blow from Nino’s blade.

“Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro,” Nino retorted, shifting his stance and blade work to mimic the technique that was ground into his bones.

The man-in-black faltered, straining to keep up with sudden change in attack. “Naturally,” the man grunted before he also changed style, forcing Nino away from him with a swish of his sword. “But I find Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro, don’t you?”

His cockiness was refreshing, especially giving the stakes they were playing for, but as they had been swatting at one another, the man-in-black had been backed into a corner on one of the rises that dotted the ruins. He considered the fall behind him, and the sword before him before giving an easy shrug to his fate and jumping off of the cliff with the nimbleness of a cat. Nino had no choice but to react, moving to stand precariously on the edge of the same rise. “Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa-“

Nino flew from the rise agilely, landing just beyond where the man-in-black was standing. He turned, not giving his opponent the opportunity to stab him in the back for even a moment. “-which I have.”

With that, the two men flew at one another once more, a blur more than anything else as they moved across the rocky terrain. Neither lost balance, neither had a misplaced stroke or block as they tried their best to kill the other man. It was clear to Nino that he was dealing with no amateur, the prospect of which seemed to thrill him then scare him. “You’re wonderful!”

The man-in-black grinned, clearly as amused as Nino was at their battle so far, as he backed Nino towards the edge of the Cliffs of Insanity. “Thank you - I’ve worked hard to become so.”

Their blades crossed, both men pressing against the other as Nino tried to keep himself from plunging to his death. “I’ll admit,” Nino grunted as he tried to keep the man-in-black’s blade from cutting his throat. “You’re better than I am.”

The man-in-black’s head tilted to the side in that curious cat mannerism he had. “Then why are you smiling?” He asked, his interest piqued.

He was right, despite the odds against him in that moment, Nino couldn’t help but grin at his current predicament. The secret he was harboring against his opponent was enough to make anyone grin. “Because I know something that you don’t, my friend.”

“And what is that?” The man-in-black grunted.

“I am not left-handed,” Nino exclaimed, kicking out one foot to push his opponent back. The man-in-black stumbled, giving Nino the opportunity to switch hands so that he could resume the fight with renewed vigor. The man-in-black was stunned, that much Nino could read, and even his abnormal strength couldn’t get Nino backed against the cliff’s edge. But his efforts were fruitless, and slowly, the man-in-black began to retreat from his blade. Nino chased him across the ruins, eventually backing him against a stairway that had long come down, its second floor landing now leading to empty space. The man-in-black is desperate now to gain any kind of purchase, feinting and thrusting in vain against Nino’s pursuit. He tried one or two final desperate moves, but they too fail.

“You’re amazing!” The man-in-black called gleefully into the morning air, still smiling despite his predicament.

“I would hope so, after thirteen years,” Nino replied before finally throwing him against one of the flanking pillars of the staircase, the man-in-black firmly pinned under the six-fingered sword and barely keeping the blade off of his neck.

“There’s something… I ought to tell you… before all of this ends…” The man-in-black choked, the golden bells at his waist going mad with the effort of trying to stay alive.

“Tell me,” Nino said flatly, pushing with everything he had. He may have liked the man, but he had a job to do. If he didn’t, Damocles would not be pleased which meant no payment.

The man-in-black’s grin turned wicked, and a spark reignited in his gaze as his grip shifted on the handle of his own sword. “I’m not left-handed either.”

The man-in-black gave a huge thrust, sending Nino stumbling back down the steps in a pile of limbs and cursing. When he finally landed at the foot of the crumbling staircase, he saw the man-in-black switch swords to his right hand before pointing it down at him accusingly. Silhouetted by the sunlight and clad in all black, Nino couldn’t help but think he may be dueling a devil instead of a man.

“Draw your sword, Nino Lahiffe,” the man-in-black sneered, giving him time to gather himself before the fight would begin anew, with each of them finally revealing his own true strength. He was teasing him, that much Nino could figure out, but still he couldn’t help but grin at the prospect of seeing what this man was capable of. If he were to die, at least it would be against an opponent who truly out classed him.

They leapt at one another like charging bulls to lock swords. Within a few moves, Nino could already see the end game; he was not going to come out of this in one piece. Every move he made, every counter attack he tried, he could still not manage to gain ground against this mysterious figure. The black devil was gaining ground and was going to make short work of him if nothing was done soon.

“Who are you?” Nino asked in awe when he managed a good enough block to keep their blades crossed long enough to get the words out. His curiosity was getting the better of him. Who was this master who seemed to be no more than a shadow?

The man smiled, his white teeth gleaming as he answered again with a coy tone, “No one of consequence.”

“I must know,” Nino admitted.

“Get used to disappointment,” was all the man replied before deftly disarming Nino and sending the six-fingered sword flying across the ruins and effectively ending their match. Nino stumbled backwards only to drop to his knees. He had given it all that he had and his body acknowledged that much. He was too tired to continue. As the man-in-black circled, he made one final plea.

“Please,” he wheezed, closing his eyes as he braced for the final darkness that would be his death. “Kill me quickly.”

The man-in-black paused just behind him and examined his fallen adversary with a shocked expression at Nino’s ludicrous statement. “I would sooner destroy a stained glass window before I lay a hand on an artist like yourself.”

Nino released a sigh of relief, the coward in him happy to live, when the man-in-black continued. “However, since I can’t have you following me either-“

There was a sharp thunk as the hilt of the man-in-black’s sword connected with the top of Nino’s skull, sending him into an ungraceful sprawl in the dirt from lack of consciousness. The man-in-black considered him for a moment longer, talking to the fainted man as he sheathed his sword. “Please, understand, I hold you in the highest respect.”

With his adversary taken care of, and no one left to follow him, the man-in-black turned on his heel and made an escape for the same hole in the ruins where Damocles, Ivan, and the captured princess had escaped to the Gilder countryside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER TWO IS UP. Well, more like the second stand alone is up. I said that I would be skipping around in the plot of The Princess Bride, there were parts that were just too slow to write. Any how, FIGHT SCENE, FIGHT SCENE, WE"RE GONNA HAVE A FIGHT SCENE. 
> 
> As always, Follow me on other platforms for more art and madness!  
> Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shelbyecandraw/  
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> Special thanks to my Beta Reader Alyssa who catches all my mistakes and makes sure I can sentence properly.  
> Don't forget to leave a comment or a Kudos! Bonne Journée!


	3. Chapter 3

Despite how bad her current predicament was, Marinette had definitely had worse days than this - every day since her Adrien was taken from her to be precise. Living with Prince Le Chien had been a horror since she first laid eyes on him, and even worse when she remembered what all that entailed. To live a life married without love, that was Marinette’s living hell. This was more like a distraction from all of that, an unwelcome one, but a distraction to say the least. What she didn’t expect was the masked crusader on the tails of her and her kidnappers almost every step of the way. From the sea, to the Cliffs of Insanity, to the Gilder countryside, he had been a shadow on the horizon that only made her kidnappers, the older one named Damocles in particular, antsy. Somehow in the course of their bizarre march through the countryside, he had managed to best the swordsman, the giant, and judging by the disturbing lack of chatter beside her, he had bested Damocles as well.

There was the soft crunch of boot steps over grass before her wrist bindings and blindfold were removed, leaving her face to face with the infamous man in black.

He was quite a bit taller than she was, agilely built and truly dressed in all black. His pale green eyes seemed to light up when he looked at her for some odd reason, as if he were pleased to see her despite whatever foul intentions that Marinette was sure he had. She looked around her surroundings, trying to get a grips for where they were, before she noticed the motionless body of Damocles beside the rock where the cups had been set. Damocles’s stupid game of wits had been the end of him, drinking from the poisoned cup when he had switched them. Marinette looked back at the man in black who was still fiddling with her wrist restraints. “Who are you?”

“I am no one to be trifled with, that is all you need to know,” The man in black muttered before finally undoing her wrists, dropping his gaze and looking strangely disappointed. He gripped her wrists tightly in his gloved hands before pulling her to her feet to lead her farther along the mountain path where he and Damocles had had their battle of wits. Marinette couldn’t help but glance back to where Damocles laid prone in the grass with a bit of satisfaction at having finally left the three madmen behind. Though, she couldn’t be sure that her current captor was any more sane. Still, she was curious on one matter.

“To think,” Marinette mused as they strolled farther up the path, “all that time, it was your cup that was poisoned.”

His response caught her as much off guard as the mirth that glowed in his green gaze. “They were both poisoned.”

“Then how are you-“ Marinette started to question, the man in black having stated from the beginning that iocane powder was a death sentence. How he was still alive and not meeting his maker was baffling to her.

“I’ve spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder,” The man in black mused with an odd fondness in his tone.

“Is that your idea of fun?” Marinette questioned curiously.

“Something like that.”

They walked for hours over rocky terrain, the brisk wind pushing against their backs like a wind in the sail. The man in black kept one gloved hand on her wrist the entire way, his long stride leaving her breathless as she tried to keep up with him. She was starting to miss being carried around by Damocle’s giant, Ivan.

As they continued to stumble along, Marinette not entirely sure where they were going, she had time to consider all that had taken place, with only the howling wind to be her partner. She wasn’t sure who was worse, Damocle’s incessant talking or the man in black's silent treatment. He hadn’t said a word to her since their chat about his miraculous immunity to his own poison, not even to rant about the bounty he was most likely trying to get out of Prince Kim. She was starting to get annoyed with the strong and silent routine to say the least. Eventually, having grown tired of her wheezing most likely, the man in black finally let her rest and released her wrist.

“Catch your breath,” His tone was short and clipped, as if he were mad at her which was impossible, she hadn’t done anything but slow him down with her fumbling most likely. As she leaned against one of the stones that dotted the rocky landscape, he sauntered about, inspecting her like a cat might consider a particularly interesting mouse before pouncing. In the pause, Marinette took the opportunity to plea for her own life, if only to understand why he was doing all of this.

“If you release me…” Marinette panted as she struggled to catch her breath. “Whatever you ask for ransom… you’ll get it, I promise you…”

The man in black laughed, and for a moment, Marinette was reminded of another young man who laughed in a similar way a lifetime before. Marinette shook the thought away, refusing to compare such an obviously violent man with her sweet Adrien.

“And what is that worth, the promise of a woman?” Her abductor asked bitterly, his gloved hands resting on his hips as he glowered down at her. “You’re very funny, Princess.”

His cockiness made Marinette’s blood boil, his arrogance making her want to slap the smile off of his face. “I was giving you a chance,” She spat, leaning forward off of her rock in order to stand toe to toe with him, her face twisted into a pout.

“No matter where you take me,” she warned, “there’s no greater hunter than Prince Le Chien. He could track a falcon on a cloudy day which means that he can find you.”

The man in black didn’t seem phased by her obvious threat, merely tilting his head to the side which made the ears perched on his mask twitch almost like a real feline. His voice was straining to hide the laughter Marinette could tell was threatening to bubble out of him. “You think your dearest love will save you?”

“I never said he was my dearest love,” Marinette snapped out of reflexes, not bothering with the graces she typically had to around the castle concerning her relationship with Prince Kim. She owed this man nothing, which meant she didn’t have to hide her obvious disdain for her odd situation concerning her private affairs. “But yes, he will save me. That I know.”

Her disdain seemed to amuse the man in black as well as pique his curiosity. His head tilted the other way as he considered her with those almost familiar green eyes, Marinette trying to keep herself from lingering on them for too long. She refused to humanize someone who was so obviously a callous kidnapper and killer. “You admit that you do not love your fiancé then?”

“He knows I do not love him,” Marinette dared to admit, her chin tilted up defiantly at him.

“‘Are not capable of love’ is what you mean,” the man’s callous answer made Marinette want to slap him. He spoke of things he didn’t know, of things he could never possibly know let alone understand. Her temper got the better of her as she retorted with a hiss. “I have loved more deeply than a killer like yourself could ever dream.”

Her outburst enraged him, the man in black’s eyes ablaze with an unknown fury as he raised a gloved hand above his head, ready to slap her. Despite the threat of bodily harm, Marinette’s gaze never wavered from his, merely flinching as she prepared for a back hand that never came. His hand dropped, apparently satisfied with just having gotten a reaction out of her, and merely tugged at her wrist again to start moving farther up the trail once more to resume their death march into the wilderness.

“That was a warning, Princess,” the man in black growled in a low tone, his teeth bared down at her. “The next time, my hand flies on its own. For where I come from, there are penalties for when a woman lies.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, his words sinking into Marinette’s mind in a way that shook her more than she would like to admit, before she was being pulled once again off into the unknown.

###

Hours more past as they found themselves perched precariously on the edge of a sheer ravine, its severe drop covered in green grass that was laid out like a carpet all the way down to the flat ravine bottom. Marinette could no more feel her feet let alone continue stumbling along half heartedly behind the man in black, something he seemed to be aware of as he finally stopped in his stride to give her a break. She collapsed into the grass, wheezing from the effort of trying to remember what it was like to breathe normally as the man in black striped a few feet away to examine the landscape ahead.

“Rest, Princess,” he said flatly, his back to her as he tried to figure what the best way ahead was. As she choked and pulled herself up into a somewhat dignified standing position, she admitted the suspicion that had been rattling around in her head since she first truly laid eyes on him.

“I know who you are.”

The man turned on her, his features fixed in that same semi-amused expression as if he were daring her to even take a guess. Marinette grit her teeth, his simpering smile only adding fuel to her fire as she continued. “Your odd garments, those bells at your waist and your absolutely cruelty reveals everything.”

Her captor once again said nothing, though she noticed the way his shoulders had drooped a fraction of an inch, as if he were already disappointed in what she was going to say without her saying it. Still, he didn’t interrupt her, which made Marinette all the bolder.

“You’re the Dread Pirate Chat Noir, admit it.” She hissed, praying that her guess was right while at the same time hoping that it was wrong. Much to her dismay, the man before her grinned mischievously and gave her an overly exaggerated bow, as if to reward her for a guess he had hoped she would have made earlier.

“With pride,” The pirate captain seemed to purr with delight as he righted himself to stand before her. “What can I do for you?”

Marinette didn’t bother to hold back her fury on what she had been wanting to tell this man from the moment she learned that her Adrien’s ship was accosted by such a despicable man. “You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces.”

Chat Noir feigned being hurt, one gloved hand pressed against his chest as if she had physically wounded him, though the smirk on his face said that he was anything but. “Hardly complimentary, Your Princess,” the pirate crooned. “Why loose such venom on me? We’ve barely just met.”

Marinette fought the urge to smack him as she stared daggers at him with stormy blue eyes. “You killed my love.”

The pirate seemed to consider this for a moment, tapping his chin as he tried to recall something and paraded in a small circle before her. “It’s possible, I kill a lot of people,” Chat Noir admitted before looking at her questioningly. “Who was this love of yours? Another prince, like the one so brazenly chasing us, and equally ugly, rich and scabby?”

“No!” Marinette cried, the memory of her sweet Adrien filling her mind as she toyed with the loops of her belt, her gaze fixed downward sadly. “He was a farm boy, not rich like a prince, but poor. Poor and perfect, with eyes more green than grass on a spring day.”

Marinette suppressed the tears that always threatened to accost her whenever she thought of her love, resorting to glaring at Chat Noir instead to appease her own inner rage. “On the high seas, your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Chat never takes prisoners.”

The pirate shrugged, leaning up against a nearby boulder before crossing his arms behind his head. The way he spoke to her reminded Marinette of how a teacher might go about explaining something to a naive child. “I can’t afford to make exceptions. Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it’s nothing but work, work, work, all the time.”

His callousness only made Marinette angrier. “You mock my pain!”

“Life is pain, Princess,” Chat Noir retorted viciously, his eyes alive with fury and hurt far deeper than what Marinette could understand of a supposedly ruthless pirate. His tone dropped to a low growl as he brought his arms down to cross across his chest. “Anything who says differently is selling something.”

Marinette looked away from him and down into the pit of the ravine, considering whether it would be better to simply throw herself to her death rather than be made fun of by a stupid pirate. Eventually, Chat Noir clasped his hands behind his back and took to circling her again, deep in thought about something until he finally broke their reverie. “I think I remember this farm boy of yours. This would be what, five years ago?”

Marinette only managed a slight nod in response.

“Will this not bother you to hear?”

“Nothing you can say will upset me,” Marinette said flatly and deep inside she knew it was true. Her heart had died a long time ago, so whatever this savage told her would do nothing to harm her.

Taking that as encouragement to continue, Chat Noir started pacing once more as he told her what had truly happened to her beloved.

“He died well, that should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering like they typically do,” The pirate explained, as if his captive’s will to live was the highest offense against him. “He simply said, ‘Please. Please, I need to live.’. It was the ‘please that caught my memory.”

Marinette nodded, smiling sadly at what he said. Knowing that he went out with dignity was like her Adrien through and through. The fact that it had to happen though weighed heavily on her heart as Chat Noir continued. “I asked him what was so important to him.”

He paused just beside her, his close proximity making Marinette’s skin crawl. “‘True love,’ he replied. And then he spoke of a girl of surpassing beauty and faithfulness.”

She could feel his eyes on her, his disdain obvious in his tone. “I can only assume he meant you. You should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you really are.”

That stirred the fire in Marinette once again, sending her to her feet to face her accuser with a steel in her gaze. “And what am I exactly?”

Chat Noir didn’t back down, his eyes chips of green as he glowered down at her with bared teeth, as if her actions were an affront against him personally. “Faithfulness he talked of, your enduring faithfulness,” he snarled, he voice getting louder with every passing moment. She could see the way his hands shook in their clenched fists at his sides as if he were restraining from hitting her as he had already threatened once to do. “Now tell me, when you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your prince that same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”

“You mocked me once, never do it again!” Marinette returned, not willing to let someone who knew nothing try to fathom all that she had been through from the moment the letter came explaining what had happened to the love of her life, to the one happiness she had. “I died that day!”

The pirate pulled away from her with a snarl, taking to looking off in the distance behind them with a scowl. For Marinette, that was the final straw.

She clenched her hands at her sides to build up her courage before raising them to his back and giving a firm push. “And you can die too, for all I care!”

The pirate teetered on the edge, his green eyes suddenly wide with unspoken terror before he went tumbling down the steep embankment into the ravine. His black clad figure slowly receded into the abyss, leaving Marinette with a warm feeling of satisfaction in her chest before the feeling quickly soured to dread and dropped into her stomach at what he said as he tumbled.

“As… you… wish… M’lady…” His voice carried on the wind up to her like the sweet song of a meadow lark and the pieces finally fell into place. The blonde hair, the bright green eyes, the hurt at the though that she had found another man.

“Oh, my sweet sweet Adrien.” Marinette felt her heart contract in her chest as she fought for air, watching him tumble still. “What have I done?”

She didnt have time to think about her next move, simply waiting like she had been for all these years was painful madness and she wouldn’t go through it again. She tried to make her way down the ravine slope slowly, carefully navigating the angle before her notorious clumsiness caught up to her, sending her tumbling along down the side after her beloved.

She twisted, crashing and cartwheeling down the ravine slope towards what she was hoping would be either a swift death or the warm embrace of her long lost love. After a few moments of agonizing and bone rattling tumbles, Marinette finally found herself splayed rather unladylike on the ravine floor, stomach down against the floor as she fought to choke out the grass that had lodged itself behind her tonsils.

There was a brief pause as she lay there breathing, waiting for the world to stop spinning, before there was a soft rustle of a body moving among the grass. Her body protested as she slowly turned over, eyes clenched shut tight against the now blinding sunlight that threatened to send her stomach contents hurled across the floor. There was more movement before a shadow crossed over her face, the now gentle caress of a glove cupping her cheek. She managed to peek her eyes open and there he was - an angel come to whisk her away to heaven to be with him. His mask had flown off somewhere along the ravine in his tumble, leaving his longer blonde hair sticking up in all directions like a dandelion puff. His eyes were still a brilliant green, pupils contracted tight with worry as he looked at her like she had been the one lost all the time and had only just rediscovered she was alive.

He was alive. Her brilliant, sunshine-infused, handsome Adrien was alive and looking thoroughly ravished from his fall, but at least he was still in one piece. He cradled her head like a spooked dove he was afraid would fly away. Meanwhile she was so ecstatic she was afraid he would hear how her heart thumped erratically in her chest.

“Can you move at all? Anything broken?” He asked worriedly, his low whisper like a caress to her soul as his eyes darted all around her face, checking for bruises or cuts. Marinette couldn’t help but raise a shaky hand to brush a stray bit of blonde hair from his forehead, her gentle touch making him go rigid. She tucked it away behind his ear, looking at him thoughtfully before wrapping the arm around his neck to hold him closer, unable to let him go for fear that he might flit away on a stray breeze.

“Move?” She said shakily, a breathy laugh escaping her throat as she smiled up at him. “You’re alive, Adrien. If I wanted I could fly.”

She pulled him down into a strong hug, nestling into her old favorite spot between his neck and shoulder and breathing in his smell. His scent was thick with sea air and salt, but somewhere, still stuck to him like a second skin, was that familiar whiff of wood dust and heather. He wound his arms around her waist, his cheek pressed against the top of her head, his deep sigh telling him that he was relishing this moment as much as she was. Eventually he shifted away from her, Marinette already missing his warmth terribly, when she caught sight of a broken look in his eye.

“I told you I would always come for you.” Adrien muttered, his thumbs absentmindedly coming up to rub circles at her temples as he cradled her head. He had that same look as before when he was just a pirate who kidnapped her - betrayed, confused and a little heartbroken at her infidelity. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

The question broke Marinette’s heart into jagged pieces that threatened to tear her apart from the inside. Her lip quivered as she answered in a lame tone. “Well… you were dead.”

Adrien then did something rather surprising - he laughed, bright and clear like the happiest of bells that made Marinette’s heart warm and smile in spite of her conflicted inner thoughts. He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, Marinette taking the opportunity to grab at the collar of his shirt to keep him from leaning away from her again. “Death cannot stop true love, M’lady. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

Marinette laughed slightly along with him before moving closer, only a hair’s width away from where his lips hovered among her own.

“I will never doubt again,” She told him, the truth that dripped from her statement surprising even herself. It was true, if Adrien could come back from the dead as a pirate, then she would never again think that he was out of her grasp.

“There will never be a need,” Adrien whispered as a reply before he closed the distance between them, Marinette’s arm snaking around his neck again as she lost herself in the kiss that sealed her faith to him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go ahead and kiss da girrrllllll~  
> I would have posted this this morning but not only did I have to drive six hours today, but I also have a cold so my brain is barely functioning. 
> 
> As always, Follow me on other platforms for more art and madness!  
> Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shelbyecandraw/  
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> Special thanks to my Beta Reader Alyssa who catches all my mistakes and makes sure I can sentence properly.  
> Don't forget to leave a comment or a Kudos! Bonne Journée!


	4. Chapter 4

 

This was not the first time that Adrien had woken up in handcuffs, but it was certainly the first time he had ever woken up strapped down shirtless to a plank of wood in a damp cave. He fought down the panic that was threatening to suffocate him. Where was he? Who had brought him here? Where was Marinette? 

Then it all came back like a wave that pounded against the rocky shoreline of the Cliffs of Insanity. He’d chased the boat carrying his princess. He’d bested her kidnappers and managed to get her back after so long apart. They had finally made it out of the Fire Swamp alive, and then that creep of a prince stole her away from him, only to have that six-fingered creep of a lord bash him over the head. It must have been hard enough for them to get him and Marinette back to Florian and then whisk him away to whatever hellhole they had seen fit to throw him in. Still, he had been in worse situations in his five years as a pirate. Odds are he would find a way to get out eventually and fight like a wild cat to get back to his beloved’s side. If he could do it once, he could certainly do it again.

He had started to tug at the wrist straps when a man as pale as a ghost appeared with fiery red hair and turquoise colored eyes carrying a tray of food and what appeared to be medicine over to where Adrien lay helpless. He was deathly pale, like he hadn’t seen natural sunlight in years. He set the tray down on what Adrien assumed was a table somewhere out of sight and picked up a rag that had been dipped in salve. He gently pressed the rag into the monstrous bite wound Adrien had received from the R.O.U.S. in the Fire Swamp. Adrien grit his teeth, not willing to give this stranger the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

“Where am I,” Adrien hissed, quietly thanking the stars when the young man pulled the rag away from his wound so he could have time to think again.

“The Pit of Despair,” The young man whispered in a raspy voice that made Adrien gulp out of reflex. Pit of Despair. That didn’t sound very promising.

He went back to tending to the bite wound, speaking to Adrien as if this were a normal occurrence for him, conversing with a would-be torture victim that he had to heal before the process could begin. “Don’t even think -“ he paused to hack whatever had gotten stuck in his throat, his voice turning to a normal timbre without the distracting rasp. He tossed his head back over his shoulder to where Adrien’s wrists had started to turn red from pressing against their iron bonds. “Don’t think about trying to escape. The chains are far too thick. And don’t think dream about being rescued either. The only way in here is secret and only the prince, the count, and I know how to get in and out.”

The prince. Of course that slimy snake was involved in this. Why whenever - if ever - he got out of here the honorable Prince Le Chien would be the first to feel his wrath. Still, he had other things to deal with, like surviving whatever his captor had in store for him in his hidden lair.

“Then I’m here until I die?” Adrien asked.

“Till they kill you, yeah,” The Abino returned in a mild tone, still fixated on his task of cleaning the blood away from Adrien’s wound to inspect the real damage.

“Then why bother curing me?” Adrien pressed, not seeing the point of being healed if only to be torn apart again. Surely if they were to torture him, it would be beneficial for him to be weaker to succumb more easily. At least that’s how they would do things back on the ship.

“The prince and the count always insist on everyone being healthy before they’re broken,” The man answered simply before lapsing into silence once more as he studied the would with a curious gaze.

Broken, the man had said. The prince wanted Adrien to be defeated by whatever means they had down here, just as he had suspected.

“So it’s going to be torture?” Adrien prodded, the man’s small nod of the head all the confirmation the pirate needed. He let out a heavy sigh, staring up at the pebbled ceiling above. “I can cope with that.”

To his surprise, the man shook his head, causing Adrien to tilt his head to the side in order to get a better look at his face. “You don’t believe me?”

The man shrugged. “Well, you survived the Fire Swamp so you must be very brave…” he paused and looked Adrien in the eye, and for a moment there was the pull of a smile on his lips. “But nobody withstands The Machine.” The smile then withered some, almost to a look of pity before he patted Adrien on the shoulder and walked away from the table to do other chores.

The Machine. Adrien wasn’t sure what to think of that, but for all intents and purposes it did not sound very pleasant. Still, the man knew very little about what Adrien had lived through in the past five years and if piracy had done anything for him, it had prepared him to withstand any number of unimaginable trials. He was sure that this would be the same as any other, if not a little easier than those previous.

They coexisted in the cave quietly for some hours, the man coming by to dab at Adrien’s wounds or give him something to eat and drink every so often, or fiddle with things unseen beyond Adrien’s square of vision about the room. This left Adrien plenty of time to think and decide what would be the best action for him to take should the opportunity ever arise for him to escape.

Hours later there was an odd creak, a door opening somewhere in the vast beyond of the cave, before the steady thump of boots came traipsing down a set of stairs. Adrien caught the tail ends of a conversation as he lay stiff as a board on the examination table.

“Is he ready, Nathaniel?” It was the monotoned sound of the six-fingered man, the one the man - Nathaniel as Adrien found - called Count Gabriel.

“As ready as any of them typically are, my lord.” Nathaniel replied rather dryly, his disdain for the count apparent despite their workplace coexistence.

There were more thumps of foot fall before the pale visage of Count Gabriel hovered over him once again. He was pale, everything about him was ghostly, from his pale blonde hair, his light skin and his pale blue eyes that seemed to examine Adrien as if he were a rather interesting specimen rather than a human being he had abducted against the princess’s wish. He gripped Adrien’s jaw, his extra finger pressed into his neck as he forcibly turned the young man’s head from side to side as if to try and glimpse any kind of visible marring. When he deemed him to be in as fine shape as Nathaniel alluded too, he released Adrien.

“It seems you’re correct,” Gabriel seemed to muse to himself before straightening. He moved out of sight before there was a shift on the table, suddenly being wheeled across the cave floor towards a rather intimidating-looking machine. Adrien couldn’t see a lot of it, but what he could see was a rather imposing dial numbered from 1 to 50. All sorts of things poked out of it - levers, wheels and the like - along with a set of suction cups that Nathaniel was busy attaching to Adrien’s chest and temples. Count Gabriel stood at his head, monitoring Nathaniel’s progress as he started what Adrien assumed was a well rehearsed monologue, looking admirably up at his machine.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? It took me half a lifetime to invent it.” He didn’t bother looking at Adrien as he spoke, merely running a hand absentmindedly down the side of the torture device. “I’m sure you’ve discovered my deep and abiding interest in pain. At present, I’m writing the definitive work on the subject.”

Adrien grit his teeth to hold back a rather stinging comment about how the Count could experience pain, but thought better of it. Count Gabriel placed his hands behind his back demurely, his eyes cutting down to look at Adrien. “So I would like to you to be totally honest with me on how my Machine makes you feel.”

He rested his hand on the dial. “This being our first try, I’ll use the lowest setting.”

He cranked the dial up to 1 before moving to the side of the machine to fiddle with more of the levers and wheels while Adrien looked on, bracing himself for whatever the Machine may afflict him with. There was a sliding thump of a chute being opened followed by the steady flow of water entering the mechanisms of the machine. The water hit a wheel that slowly began to turn, gaining speed as it really started to whirl, starting the machine up.

Suddenly, white hot pain overwhelmed Adrien as he writhed against the bonds that held him to the table. Every muscle in his body screamed for a reprieve from the agony that seemed to rack his every cell. A throaty cry escaped Adrien’s throat that sounded more animal than human as he twisted and pulled on the examination slab, all while Nathaniel and Count Gabriel looked on in curious wonder. Once the Count deemed that their session had been long enough, he shut off the Machine, the water being shut off so that it whirled down to a complete stop, leaving Adrien raggedly gasping on the table, his wrists and ankles raw from pulling against his restraints. As the pain subsided, Count Gabriel wandered over to his desk to pick up a notebook and quill, turning to a blank page before finally addressing his test subject.

“As you know, the concept of the suction pump’s centuries old,” The Count recited, smoothing out his notebook so that it would lay flat. “And really that’s all this is, but instead of sucking water, I’m sucking life. I’ve just sucked one year of your life away.”

Adrien shook violently against the table, fighting off tears as he took stock of what had just happened. Could the Count really have just taken one year off of his life with this accursed machine? It certainly felt like it, which was more than he could physically or mentally bear at the moment.

Much to Adrien’s chagrin though, the Count continued talking. “I might go as high as five one day, but I’m not quite sure what that would do to you. So, let’s just start with what we have. What did this do to you? And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest - how to you feel?”

The fallout of the Machine had left the young man breathless and dizzy with anguish that seemed to cut to his very soul, leaving him speechless and shaking from the experience. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak and something in him had understandably broke. Whether it was his hope for escaping or his will to go on, he didn’t know, but it did nothing to hinder the flow of tears that leaked down his cheek.

The Count eyed this spectacle with hawkish curiosity, his lips pursed together before he started to take note in his log, muttering under breath. “Fascinating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hurt my should some because Adrien in pain is never my favorite thing. 
> 
> As always, Follow me on other platforms for more art and madness!  
> Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shelbyecandraw/  
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> Twitter: https://twitter.com/shelbyecandraw  
> Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shelbyecandraw/  
> Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/shelbyecandraw  
> Special thanks to my Beta Reader Alyssa who catches all my mistakes and makes sure I can sentence properly.  
> Don't forget to leave a comment or a Kudos! Bonne Journée!


	5. Chapter 5

It was amazing how many things could go so horrendously wrong at once. Though in Nino’s recent experience, more situations tend to go wrong instead of right, evident by the dead weight that he and Ivan carried between them. He had hoped that the man-in-black would be the one to help him get revenge on the six-fingered man, along with Ivan, but after finding him left for dead in a torture chamber, Nino’s hopes had fallen drastically. If he wanted the man-in-black alive, he would have to hope for a miracle and in the kingdom there was only one man who could perform such a feat.

They stumbled up to a run down looking hovel on the outskirts of the village at dusk. Dried herbs and various knickknacks hung outside, flanking a crookedly set door that had been braced with iron bars and a smaller peering door towards the top. It was strangely quiet from the outside, the only noise being the far off din of village life. Nino pushed the man-in-black onto Ivan before giving a brisk knock. He prayed desperately that the occupant was in. His answer wasn’t the one he was hoping for.

“Go away!” A muted gravelly voice called from the interior of the hovel. Nino heaved an exasperated sigh at the reply. They weren’t going to get very far if they couldn’t even get inside to see the man. He glanced back at Ivan who motioned with one hand for him to try again, the man-in-black hanging limply against his side like a sickly looking rag-doll. Nino turned back towards the shack door and knocked again, this time his forceful pounding reverberating inside.

There was the soft sound of shuffling and the distinct mutter of someone cursing under their breath before a latch gave way. To Nino’s dismay, it was the peering window that opened instead of the door, revealing the well-worn and wrinkled face of a dark skin man who looked like he had been around when the world first formed. He looked at Nino with an annoyed scowl, practically spitting on him as he hissed. “What? What do you want?”

Nino didn’t waste any time; he had to make whatever short lived audience they had with the man count. “Are you the Plagg who worked for the king all those years?”

The memory seemed to sour him even more, his wrinkled upper lip curling to reveal chipped and yellowing teeth. “Yeah, until the king’s stinking son fired me. And thank you so much for bringing up such a painful subject. While you’re at it, why don’t you give me a nice paper cut and squeeze some lemon juice in it? We’re closed!”

He slammed the peering window shut with a firm slam, leaving the men outside feeling like it wouldn’t open easily a second time. Little did the old man know that he was dealing with men who weren’t easily dissuaded by a closed door. Nino pounded on it once more, this time even harder than before, earning him another round of irritated muttering from the other side. The window flew open, Plagg’s face an almost satisfying color of dark red as he stared the strangers down with a snarl. “Beat it or I’ll call the Brute Squad!”

Ivan finally took the initiative to chime in, leaning closer to the window. “I’m on the Brute Squad.”

He must have been somewhat convincing because after a quick once over, the old shaman’s anger seemed to turn to surprise, his only reply being, “you are the Brute Squad” In an incredulous tone.

“Please, sir,” Nino chimed in, vying to keep the old man’s attention focused on them so he wouldn’t have time to close the door for good. “We need a miracle. It’s very important.”

“That’s what they all say,” Plagg muttered in a subtle hiss before snarling at them again. “Look, kid, I’m retired! Besides, why would you want someone the king’s stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you wanted me to miracle.”

His aged features contorted into a wicked smile and for a moment, Nino was reminded of the same wicked gleam in the man-in-black’s eye when they had dueled. “Miracles are a fickle thing, young man. Do you really want to bring destruction calling on your door for the sake of a friend who might not want that strife? Life is a precious commodity around here.”

“You don’t understand, sir.” Nino interjected, gesturing to the man-in-black’s limp form. “He’s already dead.”

This seemed to catch the old crone’s attention, his unnaturally green eyes eyeing the man-in-black like a scientific specimen prepped for dissection. His curiosity seemed to get the better of him.

“He is, isn’t he?” Plagg confirmed as if this were something that was lied about all the time. “I guess I’ll take a look. Bring him in.”

There was a subtle click of an inner latch being undone before the door swung open to an overwhelming noxious smell. Nino gagged, covering his nose as he and Ivan crossed into the medicine man’s house.

“What is that horrible stink?” Nino queried as Ivan laid the man-in-black out across a bench by a cluttered fireplace.

“How dare you!” Plagg hissed, slipping on an apron over his tunic before making his way over to the bench. “I’ll have you know that there are men in this world who would kill to have such fine smelling camembert!”

“You mean to tell me that that disgusting smell is because of some fancy cheese?” Nino asked incredulously as the old man lifted and dropped the man-in-black’s arm which flopped down with a heavy thump.

“I kind of like it,” Ivan muttered, eyeing the glass jars filled with the medicine man’s cheese.

“See? He gets it,” Plagg said proudly before poking at the man-in-black’s cheek. “I’ve seen worse,” he declared once he seemed satisfied with his assessment before he circled the body at a slow hobble.

Nino’s fingers tapped impatiently on the table top, watching as Plagg peered down the poor man’s throat. He cleared his throat, waving one hand in an attempt to pull Plagg’s attention away from the man-in-black’s tonsils. “Sir. Sir?”

“Hah?” Plagg grunted, a finger fiddling with something in the man-in-black’s mouth.

“We’re in a rush here,” Nino emphasized.

Plagg’s head snapped in Nino’s direction at a violent speed, Nino convinced that his neck should have broken at the speed he turned. “Don’t rush me, sonny,” The old man spat, “you rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles like I told you before.”

He straightened, wiping the hand that had been in his patient’s mouth on his apron. “You goons got money?”

Nino fished the gold coins he and Ivan had pooled together and set them on the table, the shiny metal putting a gleam in Plagg’s greedy eye. “Will sixty-five work?”

The miracle man let out a throaty cackle. “Ha! I’ve never worked for so little.”

He paused, staring at some inconspicuous spot on his cluttered ceiling. He looked a little wistful, a small smile playing on his lips as he scratched at his chin. “Well, except for one. But that was a very noble cause.”

Nino gestured wildly at where his companion lay splayed on the work bench. “This is a noble cause, sir.”

Plagg seemed unamused by his outcries, looking from him to Ivan in search of a viable explanation. “Oh, yeah? What is it?”

Nino paused, his mind reeling before he gestured back to the man-in-black remorsefully. “His wife… is crippled. His children are… well they’re… on the brink of starvation-“

He was cut off by a loud snort. Plagg had started shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Boy, are you an absolute rotten liar. Your parents must have kept you extremely sheltered, am I right?”

Nino couldn’t take anymore of the old man’s cynicism. He slammed his hands down on the workbench, the loud thump catching only Ivan off guard from where he perused the old man’s book shelves. The young swordsman growled in Plagg’s direction, hissing at him through bared teeth. “I need him to help avenge my father, murdered these thirteen years.”

The old medicine man seemed unfazed by the younger man’s sudden declaration of truth, merely turning away to fiddle with the clutter that was gathered around the fireplace. “Your first story was better.”

He wandered from the fireplace to the tables that were scattered against the walls and covered in yet more beakers, books, plants and other paraphernalia. Nino caught him muttering about bellows for some reason before he waved a wrinkled hand at him. “He probably owes you money, huh? I’ll ask him.”

He rummaged about for a few minutes longer before producing a large set of fireplace bellows from under a pile of handwritten notes. He made his way back to where the man-in-black lay prone. Nino was stupefied as the old man fiddled with something caught in the bellows pipe. “He’s dead. He can’t talk.”

Plagg threw back his head and let out another sharp cackle. “Look who knows so much! Listen, kid, your friend here is only mostly dead.”

“That makes zero sense,” Ivan grumbled from where he now studied some of the notes Plagg had scattered about when retrieving the bellows.

“Do you want a miracle or not, because right now it’s sounding like you two just came here to waste my time!” Plagg seethed. “The point is that there’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead, alright?”

He pointed a gnarled finger at Nino. “You, open his mouth. We need to work quickly.”

Nino sighed before circling the table to stand at the head of the workbench. He dug his fingers between the man-in-black’s lips, his face already slightly stiff from the time he had spent dead. With some effort, he pulled the patient’s mouth open, leaving Plagg to do something surprising: shove the nozzle of the bellows down the dead man’s throat. He started pumping air into the body.

“Now, mostly dead is still slightly alive,” Plagg explained as he pumped. “If he were all dead, well, with all dead, there’s usually only one thing that you can do.”

“What’s that?” Nino asked, watching in mild horror as the dead man’s chest expanded outward. Plagg paused, another toothy grin pulling at his crinkled face.

“Go through his clothes and look for loose change,” he cackled before he resumed pumping. Having deemed the man-in-black throughly full of air, he removed the bellows, making sure to clamp his patient’s mouth shut to keep the air from escaping. “Let’s see what this is really all about then, straight from the horse’s mouth.”

He craned his body down to lean close to the man’s mouth as Nino and Ivan looked on curiously.

“Hey!” He barked, “Hello in there. Hey! What’s so important? What do you got here that’s worth living for?”

He carefully pressed the man-in-black’s chest and much to the on-lookers eyes, he managed a soft moan.

“…tr …uuuuue … love…” the corpse groaned before going silent beneath the medicine man’s hands once again. Nino became increasingly aware that his jaw had dropped in the process, Ivan being the first one to react.

“Amazing,” the giant crooned as Nino came to.

“True love!” Nino exclaimed, waving his hands wildly at the cynical old man. “You heard him! You could not ask for a more noble cause than that!”

“Sonny, true love is the greatest thing in the world,” Plagg confirmed before reverting to a wistful kind of look, pointing an accusatory finger at Nino as he spoke, “Except for a nice MLT; a mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich, where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe. They’re so good, I love that.”

His disposition turned as he frowned down at the man-in-black’s corpse. “But that’s not what he said.”

“Excuse me?”

“He distinctly said ‘to blave.’ And, as we all know, ‘to blave’ means ‘to bluff,’” Plagg explained once more, gesturing wildly as he went into another long winded sentence. “So, you’re probably playing cards, and he cheated-“

Suddenly, there was a spine chilling shriek from farther back in the shop. Moments later, a wrinkled old woman came speeding into the workshop, her bright blue eyes wide with anger, her hair pulled back into two buns that bounced as she walked towards Plagg.

“Liar!” She howled loud enough to send any dog in the kingdom howling along. “Liar! LIAAAARRR - “

Nino and Ivan reeled back in shock at the fury the old medicine woman seemed to exude as she came toe to toe with Plagg, poking at his chest irritably. Plagg swatted at her hand in an attempt to keep her hand away.

“Get back witch!” He hissed, slowly backing into the fireplace and banging his head against the mantle with a thump as the old woman cornered him.

“I’m not a witch, I’m your wife!” She screeched. “But after what you just said, I’m not even sure I want to be that anymore.”

“Please, Tikki,” The miracle man huffed, crossing his arms to glare at her. “You never had it so good.”

“‘True love,’” the old woman, Tikki, hissed irritably as she continued to prod at her agitated husband. “He said, “true love,” Max. My God —“

Plagg pulled away from her verbal and physical attacking, choosing to march around the table with her on his tail like a rabid dog. “Don’t say another word, Tikki!”

His wife must not have taken his warning very seriously because when she found she wasn’t getting any traction with him, she turned on Nino and Ivan with her pitiful cries. “He’s afraid. Ever since Prince Le Chien fired him, his confidence is shattered.”

The mention of the prince seemed to send Plagg into a permanent tailspin, prompting him to spin on one heel and corner his wife with a wild eyed stare, practically foaming at the mouth as he howled.

“Why’d you say that name-“ the old medicine man hissed, spit spraying over his wife and clients, “- you promised me that you would never say that name!“

The old red-headed woman once again came toe to toe with her husband and Nino had the distinct feeling that he was standing next to two lit firecrackers. The only question was who would cause the other to go off first. “What, Le Chien?” The old woman’s voice had gone down to a whisper but with every syllable gained volume like an oncoming stampede.

“Le Chien. Le Chien!” She exclaimed, pursuing him around the workshop at a whirlwind speed, almost giving Nino whiplash as he tried to keep track of their movements. “Oooo-oooo, Le Chien!”

Plagg had taken to sticking his fingers in his ears, hunched over as he tried to escape her wrath. “I’m not listening!”

“A life is expiring and you don’t have the decency to say why you won’t help-“ Tikki berated him, Plagg merely batting her words away like an annoying fly.

“Nobody’s hearing nothing!”

“Le Chien! Le Chien, Le Chien, Le Chien!!!” The old woman resumed in her howling as Nino fought to gather his senses to try and regain some semblance of a plan in the face of the chaos that seemed to reign all around them. He looked at the man-in-black desperately before remembering something that Ivan had told him on their way to the Miracle Man’s house. He’d just have to hope that Plagg would believe it.

He sidestepped in front of the elderly couple as they circled the workbench for what felt like the millionth time, Plagg turning headfirst into his chest before they both finally came to a stop with scowls on their withered features. Nino clasped his hand onto the medicine man’s shoulders, surprised at how flimsy they felt compared to his larger than life personality. He shook him slightly as he spoke, desperate to get his point across. “Listen, old man-“

“I am not old,” Plagg growled at him, Nino not bothering to acknowledge it as he pressed on.

“- this is Marinette’s true love. As in Princess Marinette, the bride-to-be of one Prince Le Chien,” Nino said assertively, turning the old man to face the rapidly stiffening corpse of the man-in-black. “If you heal him,” Nino whispered in the old man’s ear, making sure he understood the weight of the situation set before him. “He will stop Le Chien’s wedding.”

Plagg seemed to stew on this for a moment before he gave a slow blink, looking at the man-in-black like he was God’s gift to his profession instead of a job he had been trying to shrug off moments earlier.

“So you’re telling me,” he said in a slow tone, each word thought out and soft spoken, “that if I make him better, Le Chien suffers?”

“Humiliations galore,” Nino crooned to him, watching in satisfaction as Plagg seemed to light up from the inside out, turning quickly to hold out a gnarled hand to the young swordsman with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“This truly is a noble cause then. Give me the sixty-five. I’m on the job.”

###

It took the couple thirty minutes of work to create a pill the size of a tennis ball that they were now expertly trying to cover in a brown substance. Nino and Ivan watched their work with a strange awe, their lips curled in slight disgust at what they could only assume to be the miracle cure they ordered. Nino, as always, was the one to voice his concern.

“Is that… the miracle pill?” He asked, unable to keep his distaste for what was happening from his voice. The miracle man nodded with a sly smile as his wife chirped cheerfully.

“The chocolate coating makes it go down easier. But you have to wait fifteen minutes for full potency. And you shouldn’t go swimming after, for at least, what?”

“An hour,” her husband confirmed.

“Yeah, an hour.”

“A good hour, yeah,” Plagg echoed again dejectedly, holding out the steaming pill towards Nino and Ivan with a sick twinkle in his eye like he was holding a live bomb and was waiting for it to go off.

Nino slowly took the pill from the medicine man, mentally reminding himself to give his hands a good thorough washing when all this was said and done, before turning for the door. Ivan collected the man-in-black who had now gone stiff as a board in his deceased state, before chasing after him.

“Thank you for everything.” Nino shook the old man’s hand one more time, Ivan already out the door before following after.

“Bye-bye, boys!” Tikki called from the door, watching them march back to the village with the man-in-black flung over Ivan’s shoulder.

“Have fun storming the castle,” Plagg chuckled, one arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulder. Tikki leaned closer to him, her voice dipped when she muttered in his ear. “Think it’ll work?”

“It would take a miracle,” Plagg hissed as the three men disappeared back into the woods, back on their harebrained adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, my favorite man man has returned in my follow up fic. Writing Plagg is insane and I love him. Tikki is also a gem but Plagg's chaos is amazing. 
> 
> As always, Follow me on other platforms for more art and madness!  
> Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shelbyecandraw/  
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shelbyecandraw  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/shelbyecandraw  
> Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shelbyecandraw/  
> Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/shelbyecandraw  
> Special thanks to my Beta Reader Alyssa who catches all my mistakes and makes sure I can sentence properly.  
> Don't forget to leave a comment or a Kudos! Bonne Journée!


End file.
